


SoL #15: Getting a haircut

by Client327



Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Client327/pseuds/Client327
Summary: Logan gets a haircut
Kudos: 1





	SoL #15: Getting a haircut

**Author's Note:**

> PB owns all this, and me. Logan deserves all of the love.

Logan was sitting on the couch in his loft staring out of the window into the streets below. It was still early in the morning and the neighborhood was buzzing with activity as people began their day. The morning light bathed everything in hazy, warm colors that should have put his nerves at ease. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving them to rest at the base of his neck. He twisted a long lock of his brunette hair aimlessly between his fingers. It had gotten long; too long. A deep sigh coursed through his lungs as he came to terms with the fact that it was time to get it cut. There was always a certain amount of mental preparation that he had to go through before cutting it, and that was when he was the one with the scissors. This will be the first time that he has let anyone else cut it in years. 

His heart raced with anxiety as he remembered the last time. Logan was only 8 years old and already moving to his fifth foster home. Usually when he was taken from a home it was because they couldn’t handle him. He was rough and rambunctious and no one had been willing to put in an effort with him. But this last home was different. Logan had been taken from their custody after numerous reports had come in claiming an exuberant amount of abuse and neglect. 

One look at Logan would have been proof of the claim’s validity. He was at least fifteen pounds underweight, every bone in his structured face was easily distinguishable, and his hair, which hung just past his shoulders was tangled and matted together. It would have taken hours of careful brushing, detangling, and treatment to even begin to get them all out; time that his new foster family would not afford him.

His first night there was spent pinned to a chair by two of the other foster kids, who were more than willing to exert their strength over the new kid. Logan jerked and thrashed in their grip trying desperately to avoid the scissors in his new foster mother’s hand. She balled his locks in her fist and chopped angrily at them, cuffing him against the head when he refused to stop his screaming and pulling. 

Tears pooled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks with the reckless abandon of a child without the emotional control to keep them at bay. He fought against the hold on him the entire time earning him several deep cuts along his ears and neck where his foster parent refused to stop until her task was done. 

Logan sat frozen to the chair when she was finished, nothing left to fight for, as he stared down at all his hair surrounding him on the floor. He vaguely remembers being told by his first caseworker that he had his mother’s hair. Fresh sobs found his lips as he considered that now he had nothing of her at all. 

***

Logan was pulled from his memory by a knock on the door and a cheerful smile, “You ready to do this?” Sydney’s voice was light and airy, refreshing.

He stood from the couch and made his way to a chair that he had sat out in the middle of the room for the occasion, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” 

“Of course! I trim mine all the time. You just want a little off, right?” She shook out the barbers cape that she had brought from home.

Logan took it from her hands and put it over on the bed, far away. He wasn’t about to have something tied around his neck for this. “Yeah, just some off the ends. Shorten it a little.” 

Sydney watched as Logan nervously wiped his hands along his pants legs, staring at the chair, but not sitting in it. “I promise I won’t mess it up, Logan.”

Least of my worries. The thought ran through his mind before flashing Sydney a reassuring smile that they both knew wasn’t genuine and taking a seat.

He gripped onto his knees, shoulders pushed nearly up to his ears, as his leg bounced vigorously against the chair’s footrest. She took out a spray bottle and lightly misted Logan’s hair to dampen it, running her fingers through it as she went. 

“You have such nice hair. I could play with it all day.” She laughed trying to dissolve some of the tension in the room.

Logan responded with a tight-lipped smile and a quick nod, electing to delegate most of his attention to not flinching. A burst of nervous sweat coated his skin as he watched Sydney reach for the scissors. She was standing in front of him now, her tongue caught between her teeth as she decided where to start. 

Her fingers worked to separate a strand of hair from the frame of his face that she then ran a comb through, settling her fingers on the spot where she would cut. Logan took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the metal blades got closer and closer. The feeling of the shears cutting through his locks vibrated gently up to his scalp, the tension on the strand slacking after each cut. 

He involuntarily pressed the side of his face into his shoulder at the sensation. 

Sydney gently placed her hand underneath Logan’s chin and eased his face back up so she could pull the next strand to cut. Her fingers were soft along his jaw, guiding him with the easiest of nudges. He kept his eyes trained on her, entranced by the way her fingers worked expertly through his hair and by the light in her eyes that seemed to signal that she was enjoying this. 

She eased apart each section with care, stopping any time her comb caught even the smallest tangle, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to pull that rough.”

Logan laughed despite himself, thinking that Sydney couldn’t intentionally hurt him if she tried. He let his eyes slide closed as he got lost in the way her fingertips massaged his scalp in between cuts and the way her breath felt as she blew off stray pieces of hair from his neck and shoulders. 

“You ok there?” she smiled at him easily as she looked for any uneven parts.

“Perfect,” he breathed out, the tension subsiding from his neck and shoulders.


End file.
